The Comet
by readwritelive13
Summary: This is a story about friendship. This is a story about sacrifice. This is a story about choosing between right and wrong. This is a story about how a normal girl became a legend. This is my story.
1. The Beginning

**THE COMET**

By **readwritelive13**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or D.C. Comics, or any of their characters. I do, however, own the OC's. Some of them are also IrisLillyRose's; I'll tell you which ones are hers when they appear in the story.**

_I am twelve years old, reading on the living room couch. _

_My mom and dad both give me a kiss on the cheek. __"We're gonna go get some groceries, sweetie," my mom says, patting me on the head. I nod and smile without looking away from my book; the grocery store is about two blocks away, and I know they won't be away long. Even if the traffic's horrible. They leave, and I get up and click on the TV, because the house seems too quiet. It's on the news channel, has been for some time. My family doesn't watch TV a lot. I keep reading. A few minutes later, I look up and see a blonde reporter, practically shouting into her microphone. _

_"__Breaking news in New York City, a very serious car crash has occurred in this intersection. Four cars were damaged or totaled in the crash. There have been three fatalities discovered so far, and numerous injuries." Then it zooms up on an image that will forever be seared into my brain. It's a bunch of people on stretchers. Two of which are my mom and dad. _

_The book falls from my hand and lies strewn there, but I don't care. My eyes are glued to that screen, that image that used to be my parents. How could they already be so still and lifeless? I had talked to them, they had kissed me on the cheek, they were alive. And now they're gone. Completely and utterly gone._

_My head is spinning, and I can't seem to breathe. I know I do not want to be taken away-I don't think anyone will just leave me alone, however much I may want them to. I know from books and movies that when your parents die, you're taken to foster homes. I do not want to leave. Above all, I just want things to be normal._

_But of course, that is now impossible. _

_My mind is made up. I'm not going to go with them. I know they will come, search the mansion if they can get in, but they will not find me. I am going to run. Where? I have no idea. But I'm so confused, and I'm not thinking clearly, and I'm going. I gather up my clothes, books, and finally my cello, which I've been learning to play for five years. _

_There is a knock on the door. I do not answer. I go out the back way as they knock. I open the fence, thinking myself so clever, when I see a man in sunglasses and a suit there, smiling at me._

_"__Rachelle Jameson, I presume?" he asks with the sort of smile that sends shivers up my back. He gently puts his hand on my trembling shoulder. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," he says, not noticing that behind my back, I'm typing in the code that will lock all the doors and windows (and leave a nasty surprise for anyone who enters)._

_I shake my head, starting to back away. "It's going to be all right," he says with a creepy grin on his face._

_He smiles. "I am going to take you to your new home," he explains, and I mentally slap myself. How could I be so stupid, not running away the moment I see this guy? He's wearing SUNGLASSES, for goodness sakes! So I run away, fast, and even though I'm wearing a backpack and dragging a cello behind me, he loses me quickly._

_—_

I wake up, my breath coming quickly and my chest heaving. Looking around me, I realize it was just the ever-present dream of my past. I'm not twelve-I'm eighteen. My life is different now. I then lie back down under the blanket and rest my head on my pillow.

My home is not like most people's. It's an "abandoned" but high tech mansion that is completely solar powered and gets water from a well nearby. My parents had kept all their money in a safe before they died, so I haven't had to withdraw the money from a bank, alerting the authorities of my presence in the "abandoned" house. It's my house anyways, but I'm not taking any chances.

Since my parents left the mansion (and their whole billions-of-dollars fortune) to me, and I'm the only one who can enter (thanks to some handy retina scanners) the government hasn't been able to take it, and since it's completely solar powered, I don't have to pay bills. It's a perfect system.

My bare arms are still cold from the exposure to the colder room temperature. Sighing, I stand up and dress quickly. I put on a sweater and eat breakfast.

—

The sun comes out from behind the thick gray clouds that threaten snow as I set out. I shiver, sticking my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and putting my head down to warm the bottom half of my face. I then head in the direction of a store in search of something warmer. I find a scarf, a warmer winter coat, and a hat, then put them on and head home, thankful for the warmth.

It's started to snow outside, fat flakes drifting down from the dark clouds and landing on my upturned face like freckles and adorning my hair. I look up and smile widely. But then I feel a grip on my arm and I'm pulled into an alley. I wrench myself free from the grasp, and look up to see a man wearing sunglasses and an expensive-looking suit.

"Ah, Rachelle," he says smoothly, taking a step toward me (I take one nervous step back). "It's been a long time." Suddenly I have a small flashback. A man, in a suit and wearing sunglasses. "Rachelle Jameson, I presume?" My mouth goes dry.

"You." It is not a question, it is a statement.

Then I am filled with anger-at this man, who brought my past, filled with fresh pain, into the life I had tried to create free of my sorrow. "Who the heck are you?" I shout. "What do you think you're doing, coming here, and…and…"

I do not register the small, pistol-like gun he points at me until I feel a small twinge in my arm and see a feathered dart there. My head starts spinning, and my legs collapse. I hold onto the side of the alley for support as my vision grows darker and darker. I thickly force out a few words. "I'm not gonna let you get away with this." As I slip into unconsciousness, I hear him answer,

"And how do you expect to do that?" His laughter slips into my dreams.

**A/N: So, that's the first chapter! I will try to update once every week (so on Tuesdays). I don't always have access to the internet on Tuesdays, though. I'll do my best to remain consistent. The next chapter will be setting things up, mostly, and we're introducing SPIDER-MAN! *running around like a crazy person* If you've watched The Amazing Spider-Man, you'll get the jokes he makes. If you haven't, they're still pretty funny. Those of you who are not particular fans of Spider-Man, there's gonna be a LOT of other superheroes coming up! I hope you like the first chapter, and please review!**


	2. The Reveal

**So, this is chapter two! Still getting things set up here; the real plot will start in the next few chapters. If you read, please review! Tell me what you think! I'd love to hear from you! Oh, and if you REALLY like it, please press the favorite button-my friend has 4 favorites right now and I want to catch up to her! Not that I'm being competitive or anything...of course I'm not. :) Anyways, hope you like ****_THE REVEAL._**** (Original name, I know, but what else could I call it?)**

When I wake up, I look around, wondering where I am. It's what looks like a hospital room, complete with a rising and falling green line on a computer screen. But I know it's not a hospital room, because of the way I was abducted. _Where am I?_ I think, my mind muddy from sleep.

Walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window, I look out. To my great surprise, I see the familiar New York skyline. This surprises me, because I had thought I would be carted off to some distant city- maybe even a foreign country. Perhaps I've been watching too many movies.

I run my hand through my hair, then stop, noticing something. On my upper arm, right above a thin white scar, is a Band-Aid that I am sure was not there before.

I lift one side of it, wincing as it pulls some hairs out, and feel a small bump-almost like from when you get a shot-underneath. I press on it curiously, then I arch my back as my vision flickers and a sharp burst of pain engulfs my body. _What the-_

The man walks in. At first I recoil at the sight of him, but then I turn my face into a mask of sarcasm. I raise an eyebrow, pointing to the Band-Aid that is now hanging off my arm.

"What is this?" I demand. "What did you do to me?" He grins in answer to my question, and I shiver; it's the same evil grin that unsettled me all those years ago.

"Believe me, little girl, when I say that it will be an…INTERESTING experience. You see, we have injected both the Captain America and the Spider-Man seru-" He suddenly stops talking and I back away as the window seems to explode. The man pulls out a knife, and I realize that Spiderman had swung into the window, breaking it.

"Is that a small knife?" he asks in mock terror

"Yeah, it's a-" the man answers, confused.

"Oh no. My-my weakness is small knives!" Spider-Man says. I feel as if I've heard the joke before, but I can't remember where. I frown. Spiderman and small knives…wait…didn't Peter-

Immediately, he shoots the man's knife with a web, knocking it out of his hand, then motions toward me.

"C'mon," he says.

I hesitate. "How did you-"

He interrupts me. "Just COME ON, quick!"

I run over as he shoots another web toward the man. Then I look out the window, and realize that I am at the top of a very high building.

"Oh, my goodness I-" My words are lost in the wind as Spider-Man pulls me onto his back.

"AAAAGGGGHHHHTHISISSOAWESOME!" I scream as Spider-Man swings from building to building. Eventually we come to a deserted alley. I recognize it as the one where I was first kidnapped.

"Thanks for saving me back there," I say, holding out my hand for him to shake. He hesitates, then gingerly takes hold of my hand and shakes it. "Can you take off your mask?" I'm suddenly curious-Spider-Man seems familiar, somehow-his voice, his manner.

"Of course," he answers, twitching a little bit, like he's making sure he can make a fast getaway.

I wait for a moment, then sigh, a bit exasperatedly. "Will you?"

He shakes his head. "No one seems to grasp the concept of the mask!" Something in this sentence makes me remember what I started to realize a few minutes ago.

"It's you, Peter, isn't it?" I ask, feeling surer with every word. Spider-Man backs away.

"What-I-I don't know what you're-" This confirms it for me.

"You're a horrible liar, Peter, just take off the mask," I say, stepping closer with one hand extended.

"You made up that joke. Remember that? 'My weakness is small knives'. And you suddenly started being late for everything a while ago, you were distracted-I'm not stupid, you know, I knew something was up!" Spider-Man's still denying it.

"I don't know who you're-" I interrupt his sentence by grabbing hold of his mask and yanking it off. He steps back in surprise, glancing everywhere for an escape. "Rachelle, I-I-can ex-" I interrupt him.

"Peter, don't even go there. There's nothing you can say that will justify what you did. Do you know how many times I knocked on your door? How many times I called you?"

"I-I-" Peter stammers, running his hands through his hair, his cheeks flushed.

I interrupt again. "And you were doing it to do awesome stuff! WITHOUT ME! You could have at least TOLD me! Is that too much to ask?" He glances away.

"Ye-e-es." I could have smoke coming out my ears, I'm so angry. "Well, it was never the right time…" he says defensively, then trails off uncertainly.

"NEVER THE RIGHT TIME! I-" I start.

He stops me in the middle of my sentence. "And now isn't the right place. Aren't you worried someone will overhear us?"

I sigh loudly. "Fine. My house. Six o' clock. I'll get pizza. Is that the right TIME AND PLACE?" I say, putting emphasis on the last words. He flinches.

"I do love pizza," he says, trying to lighten the mood. I nod. "If you don't show up…well, you better show up."

I go home after that. Looking at my house, I realize it's the one thing in my life that hasn't changed. My friend, my perspective-everything's changed. And I don't know yet if I'm pleased with the results.

I sigh, turn the doorknob, then walk inside and collapse on my couch, screaming into a pillow. Two seconds later I get up, pick up the phone, and type in the phone number for my favorite pizza place. After the pizza comes and I've put it on the table, I hear the doorbell ring, and open the door. Peter walks inside and we sit on the couch with some pizza.

For a long, LONG moment, there's an awkward silence.

"So when did you…start the Spider-Man stuff?" I ask, shifting on the couch.

Peter hesitates. "About a year-and-a-half ago," he answers. "It was sort of annoying at first-when I couldn't control my powers, I kept on accidentally ripping off doorknobs and stuff like computer keys would stick to my fingers," he answers.

I laugh uncomfortably. "That doesn't happen anymore, right?"

He shrugs. "Only when I want it to."

I smile. "That's good…"

He exhales loudly. "Yeah."

I feel like I can't hold back my curiosity any longer. "So, why did you avoid me? For six months?"

He looks down. "I-a-a…friend…of mine, Gwen," he starts, and I nod.

"Oh, I know Gwen! We were friends a while ago…" I trail off, deciding that this is not the time, then wave him to go on.

"I made a promise to her father, when he died." he continues. "That I would stay away from her, because he thought my enemies might target her. And he didn't want-want-anything to happen to her." He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"I promised him, and then I broke that promise. And now she's…" He rubs his eyes more vigorously. "Now she's-she's dead." I blink with surprise. Dead? "And it's because of me. If I had kept my promise, if she hadn't been my…my friend, she would still be alive." A solitary tear falls down his cheek. Then he looks at me, and I can see a sort of fire, a determination, behind a veil of tears threatening to spill out.

"I didn't want the same thing to happen to you. I…I was trying to protect you. Tragedy follows me wherever I go, and you…I don't want to make your life harder than it's been." I don't know what to say to that for a moment.

"Peter, I…I…I'm sorry. I know that you-you've been through some hard times, I have too. But really, you're my only friend. And all you did was make my life harder by staying away. Because I need a friend, but I don't need any protection. I can take care of my-" Peter interrupts me with sudden steel in his voice.

"No. No, that's exactly what Gwen said." He's shaking with suppressed emotion now. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, a few small tears running down his cheeks. "Gwen said that, and she's DEAD now, Rachelle, and I DON'T WANT ANYBODY ELSE TO DIE BECAUSE OF ME!"

I think for a moment, struck by a sudden idea. "Peter, how did you know where I was?"

He shrugs. "I saw you go into the alley and when you didn't come out, I figured something was wrong."

I raise an eyebrow. "And you were just…randomly walking by just then? And you-by chance, say- stayed long enough to think something was wrong?"

Peter flushes and looks away. "Ye-Yes?"

I stare at him unbelievably. "Peter have-have you been following me?" He rubs the back of his neck, then looks up at me and flinches, looking away again.

"Maybe just a little." I laugh a little-the idea is so ridiculous to me. He crosses his arms, looking a little offended from my humorous take on it. "Hey, I-"

I interrupt him. "Let's just have pizza, okay?"

He sighs, his ears still bright red. "Fine."

Two pieces of pepperoni pizza later, my experience of the kidnapping is at the back of my mind, but I can't expel the worry- the worry that the man will come back, that he'll take me away again. Peter puts down his plate.

"You're worrying, aren't you?"

I jolt out of my worry and self-pity. "Wha-how can you tell?"

He laughs. "Because that's what I would be doing. I mean, you got drugged and abducted by someone you don't know and is probably really dangerous."

I point a piece of pizza at him. "You, sir, are a ray of sunshine." He laughs, then goes on.

"Then you found out that, hey, your friend is the (ahem) wildly well-known and completely awesome Spider-Man."

I laugh. "Not so sure about that last part."

He raises an eyebrow. "Me being Spider-Man? I assure you, it's true." I laugh again. "No, the completely awesome part." Peter shakes his head.

"You're in denial."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"I'm also devilishly handsome."

"You poor, misguided creature."

"Again, denial. It happens a lot."

"In your dreams."

Finally, after a while, we call a truce, (mostly because we've run out of comebacks) and then get some ice cream out of the fridge. Usually I don't eat this unhealthily-pizza AND chocolate ice cream-but today is an exception. We both heap our bowls and sit back down on the couch.

Then Peter has to leave. Afterwards, I stagger to my bedroom, all the pain and fatigue coming back at once, and fall asleep immediately.

**Ta-da! Now you see why I called it ****_THE REVEAL_****. The next chapter is when the plot really starts going crazy. (like CRAZY crazy there's even a new character added) So bear with me, I've just got to get things set up and later there's a whole bunch of plot twists and humor and FLUFF. Thank you, those who reviewed, and please keep doing so, it makes my day! I hope you liked it!**


	3. Dr Parker: A PHD in Ibuprofen

**A/N: Kay, so this is where things really start to get crazy…not like intense crazy, more like mental realizations, that kinda stuff. I'm actually sort of proud of this chapter…so like if you like, favorite if you really like. Don't forget to review!**

_Peter_

When I go to Rachelle's house the next morning, she doesn't answer the door.

Immediately, I know something is wrong-Rachelle has complained often of being unable to sleep in, so she couldn't still be in bed. Her record is nine o' clock in the morning-something she's proud of.

It's eleven o' clock right now.

I ring the doorbell about five times before I get really worried. Why isn't she answering? We talked about it last night, and we both agreed that it would be best for her to stay in the house for at least two days-whoever the people who kidnapped her are, they're probably combing the city for Rachelle. And we're both sure that it would be disastrous if she was caught by those people.

I reach up, feel around on the top of the door-frame, then grab the spare key. Rachelle showed me where it is a few years ago. "Rachelle?" I say cautiously, looking around. "RACHELLE?" I sprint upstairs, looking inside every room. "Rachelle, this is NOT FUNNY!" Then I open her bedroom door to see Rachelle, laying on her bed, passed out, her cheeks bright red and covered in sweat.

I immediately feel her forehead-she's burning up. I notice that she's twitching-not a good sign. "Rachelle, wake up, please wake up, oh no…" I wonder what's wrong with her for a second-the symptoms seem really familiar…

I connect the dots-kidnapped one day, burning fever the next? Kidnapped, then suddenly struck with an intense sickness-that can't be a coincidence… "Oh no," The words slip out of my mouth as my mind automatically connects her symptoms. I've seen this before, and it's not good. The only other person who's even been THROUGH this is Harry…and why Rachelle? I've been staying away from her for so long…why?

Why did they inject the spider venom into her?

—

I stay still for a few seconds, frozen in shock. _Why Rachelle, why did this have to happen to her? _Then I leap into action. I brush Rachelle's hair from her forehead, worried by the intense heat radiating from her. I think, for a moment, unsure on what to do.

"Ibuprofen!" I exclaim. Maybe the normal fever-reducer will help, though her sickness is definitely not normal.

I sprint downstairs, looking through every cupboard. "Ibuprofenibuprofenibuprofen-yes!" I open the bottle-it's empty. "Oh no," I groan. I barricade the door from the inside-no one's getting at Rachelle on my watch-and climb out a window, closing it behind me. Then I pull on my mask and swing to the grocery store.

_Rachelle. Rachelle. Rachelle._

I shop in my suit, knowing that I'll probably get VIP treatment from the cashiers-I can't afford to wait in lines. I grab a large bottle of Ibuprofen, attracting many stares. "Uh, headache," I say in explanation. "What, I can't be sick too?" I try to ignore the people taking out their phones and video-taping me.

_Rachelle. Rachelle. Rachelle._

The cashier stares wide-eyed at me and she scans the ibuprofen slowly.

"Can I have your autograph?" she asks nervously as I prepare to leave. I sigh, thinking about poor Rachelle, sweating up a storm.

"Really quick. Gimme a pencil." I sign her proffered piece of paper as quick as I can manage, then swing out of the grocery store.

_Rachelle. Rachelle. Rachelle._

I swing one-handed, gripping the small bottle of pills so tightly that it hurts.

"C'mon, Rachelle, hang in there," I mutter under my breath. When I finally reach the mansion, I practically fly up the stairs. I fill up a glass of water from the sink, then pour it in her mouth and stuff two of the small pills in as well. She swallows involuntarily, and I sigh with relief as I get some rags and wet them to put on her forehead.

_Rachelle. Rachelle. Rachelle._

The water gets all over my hands, they're shaking so badly. I finally have three wet rags. I put one on her forehead, and use the other two to wipe her face, her arms, her neck. Her blonde hair is soaked from the water and her own sweat, and her eyelids flutter in her sleep, her breath ragged. She shivers, and I put another blanket on her from the foot of her bed.

_Rachelle. Rachelle. Rachelle._

I realize that I don't know what else to do. When I'm sick, that's all my aunt does, and it usually works. Antibiotics? Too risky. I'm worried that the only thing that will fix her is something prescribed-if it is, she's doomed, because normal doctors will have never seen any sickness like the one she has.

_Rachelle. Rachelle. Rachelle._

She reminds me so much of Gwen. I wince at the thought. Gwen. It pains me to think of her, so beautiful and kind and understanding and-and dead. I think of a line from her valedictorian speech- What makes life valuable is that it doesn't last forever, what makes it precious is that it ends. That it ends. A tear rolls down my cheek at the thought. Her life ended. I don't want Rachelle's to end too. Why, why, why? Why them? Why me?

I weep, my shoulders shaking and my cheeks wet with salty tears.

_Rachelle. Rachelle. Rachelle._

—

After a while, my tears have run dry, and all I can do is stare at Rachelle, hoping with my entire being that she'll be okay. Because I don't want to lose another friend.

I mechanically change her washcloth, checking her temperature. A little cooler. I don't get my hopes up-I don't know if that means she's a little better, of if the end is near. The end of her suffering? Or of her life? I don't know. I remember another line from Gwen's speech. _We have to be greater than what we suffer._ I chuckle humorlessly. Greater than what we suffer? I've suffered so much, it seems impossible. Impossible for me.

Time to check her temperature again. A little cooler. I tap my fingers on the bedside table, and I realize why people in hospitals stay by their loved ones even though it pains them. Because they can't go away. It's torture, but you have to stay by them.

I check the clock. 1:45. It's been two hours and forty-five minutes. I put my face in my hands, feeling as if there's a spring wound tight inside me, stabbing into my stomach. I look up. 2:00. It's been three hours. I put my head in my hands again.

A while later, I don't know how long-I hear a change in Rachelle's breathing. I glance up, and her face isn't red anymore, her breathing steady. I feel her forehead-it's not hot. Her eyes flutter open, and my heart skips a beat. She breathes in deeply, as if she's been holding her breath, then looks around the room, and stops at me.

"Peter?" she says weakly. I let out a sigh of relief. "Oh my goodness," I mutter over and over under my breath, rubbing my face. A few tears of relief squeeze out of my eyes, and I wipe them away. Rachelle grabs my arm, her grip weak. "Peter, what's going on?" I hug her, and she stiffens. "What are you doing?" I break away and laugh a little. "Well, I'm not exactly sure how to explain…"

—

After I've explained what happened to Rachelle, I turn to her.

"Rachelle-did the man that kidnapped you-did he tell you why he kidnapped you, did he give you any hints?" She nods.

"He-he-he said-at least I think he STARTED to say, everything was sort of crazy, still is-he said they had injected the Captain America and the Spiderman serums into me." I blink.

"That's why, that-oh."

Rachelle looks strangely at me. "What?"

I look down. "A friend of mine, Harry-he tried to inject the venom into himself and he went insane, because he wasn't blood-related to me. My dad had used his blood to create the venom, so I was the only one it could work on after he died. That's why when you got really sick I was freaking out because I didn't want you to go insane like he did. The Captain America serum must have counteracted it, or bolstered your system or something."

Rachelle frowns. "So what does that mean for me?"

I shrug. "I don't know." I squeeze her hand, then stop, a slow smile spreading across my face.

"What?" she asks. I laugh once, and then tug at her hand. It's sticking.

"Rachelle."

Her eyebrows furrow. "What? I already know you're Spiderman, so it's not that much of a surpri-"

I interrupt her. "Rachelle, that's not me." Her eyes widen.

"Oh," she whispers.

**A/N: So, her powers ARE FINALLY HERE! I'll reveal her powers as the story develops. Don't worry, I won't give her both Captain America's AND Spider-Man's powers, that would be too powerful, there will only be a few from each person. And, here's the sad part, it's Christmas Break next week…so I might not be able to get wifi to post the next chapter. I will try my hardest, I really will. This is just a heads-up-if I don't update next week, it's just because I don't have wifi. Thanks for reading! And review, tell me what you will like to happen!**


	4. Realizations, Donuts, and Confrontations

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, I couldn't get wifi on Tuesday. Christmas is awesome. To compensate for updating late, I've provided you with an extra LONG chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

_Rachelle_

It's my first day out of the house since the day I was kidnapped, and I can't get used to it-looking at the same streets, the same stores, the same endless crowd of cars on the street, but not the same me. I'm different now. Part of me wants to just scream it out to release the tension I'm feeling.

"GUESS WHAT, EVERYBODY? I GOT SUPERPOWERS!" But I don't, because that would be stupid. I adjust the scarf on the bottom of my face, glancing around and wondering if anyone can tell that I'm different now. But of course, they can't.

Because I'm more different than I ever thought I'd get. My reflexes have been enhanced, my sight, smell and hearing three times as good as they used to be. Every time I walk inside a room, I can hear the heating system and things that no one else would notice catch my attention. I'm about ten times as strong as I used to be, my arms hard with muscles that, even though they're not visible, are even stronger than a wrestler's. What frustrates me is that these powers aren't something that I can control.

You'd think that I'd be going to a favorite store, maybe get a bagel or two, just walk around and relax. But I can't stand having been kidnapped and not knowing who did it. So I'm going back to the alley where I was kidnapped and looking for evidence. I don't think that the man (WHO THE HECK IS HE?!) will be there. And if he is…then I'll punch him in the face. Hard. Maybe kick him a few times.

When I reach the alley, the first thing I see is a man getting punched in the face. He falls to the ground as I pause for a moment in shock. And then he meets my eyes.

"Help!" I leap into action. There's two men, one holding the guy's coat and checking it for money, and the other standing over the guy. I tighten my scarf around my face so that it won't fall down, then punch the man holding the coat, who flies backward. Oops. I forgot how strong I've gotten.

Then I grab the other man's coat, using my fingers to stick to it, and throw him to the ground. Then I hold out my hand to the man who got mugged, and help him up.

"Thanks," he says in awe, looking at the men, who are still on the ground. "Who are you?" I smile behind my scarf. One of the men on the ground starts to stir.

"I'd get going if I were you." He looks at the men and decides not to argue.

I remember what I came here for and scan the alley, looking for any evidence, though the fight could have wiped it out. I sigh, turning to leave, when my foot hits something small on the ground. I look down and see a feathered dart on the ground- it must have fallen off of my arm when the man kidnapped me. I lean down and pick it up to look at it. On the shaft of the dart is a single word: _Hydra_.

When I leave the alley, I'm in a much better mood. Not only because I found the evidence I was looking for, but because I felt really good, saving that man. It's a wonderful feeling. Knowing that you've done something to help the world. And I'm getting an idea.

As soon as I get home, I call Peter.

"Yes?" he answers. I smile with excitement.

"Peter, it's me."

"Hi, Rachelle."

"You're my new sidekick."

"WHAT? I'm not anyone's sidekick!"

"Fine. But I'm gonna be a superhero."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

"Who put you in charge of me?"

"I did. And I say no."

"You're not the boss of me."

"Yes I am."

"You can't stop me."

"Yes I ca-"

"Bye!"

I put down the phone and laugh maniacally, then go upstairs, and, in my excitement, start to pick out an outfit that will both make sure that no one recognizes me and look completely epic. I end up with a long-sleeved gold V-neck shirt under a short-sleeved jean jacket and a brown scarf pulled up around the bottom half of my face. I also wear a mid-thigh brown skirt with gold leggings and brown and gold flats.

After I've put them on, I hear the doorbell ring. I open the door to a scowling Peter.

"Hello!" I say cheerily. He frowns at me.

"You know the answer is still no, right?"

I grin. "And you know that you can't stop me from doing whatever I want, right?"

He raises his eyebrows. "You think so, huh?"

I nod as I grab my backpack and push Peter aside as I close the door behind me. "Where are you going?" he asks suspiciously. I roll my eyes.

"Grocery shopping. I haven't gone out of the house in a while, I need to stock up!"

He nods. "I'll go with you."

I laugh. "What are you, my babysitter?"

Peter snorts. "More like your parole officer."

I laugh again as we start to walk. "You don't trust me, do you?"

He shrugs. "I don't trust your nonexistent common sense, more like it."

I pout. "Nonexistent?"

He puts his hand on my shoulder. "I'm being generous."

Once we get to the grocery store, I grab two cartons of milk, some peanut butter and jelly, and some Ritz crackers. Then I pay for the food, and head out the door.

Peter stops me. "Where are you going?"

I point right. "To the store. I need some more clothes."

He blinks, realizing that he can't be with me constantly while I'm clothes-shopping. I give him a roll of money.

"How about you go get some donuts or something while I shop? I shouldn't be long, I'm just gonna go inside that store right there," I say, pointing. "I know what I want." Peter hesitates for a moment, then nods and walks away. I grin and then buy six pairs of skirts in gold, brown and blue, shirts and scarves in the same colors, and some converse shoes for good measure. Peter meets me outside the store once I'm done. We walk down the street eating our warm donuts, and Peter seems a little less suspicious of me.

"Ish shat shmoke?" I ask with my mouth full.

He shakes his head. "What?"

I swallow and point. "Is that smoke?"

He frowns, trying to focus on the plume of gray billowing into the sky. "Yeah, looks like it."

I pretend to check my pockets. "Oh no, I forgot something in the store."

He sighs. "Okay. Be quick, the donuts'll get cold."

I nod and run in the direction we came from. Once I'm out of his sight, I find the nearest alley, stash my bag of clothes, and pull my scarf up around my face, then climb the building and try to see the source of smoke. A building is on fire. I jump the gap between the buildings and run across the top of the next one, then make my way towards the building on fire.

The building is a skyscraper, one that looks strangely familiar, and is covered in flames. I immediately run to it, and, spider-like, climb up the building to the higher levels, because it's more likely that people near the top have either been trapped or haven't gotten out. I skirt around a large shattered window (how does a fire shatter a window?) and scan the other windows. Empty, empty, empty, emptyWAIT!

I punch the window, leaving a hole, then punch it again and the window shatters. A woman is on the floor, apparently passed out from the smoke. I pick her up and climb down the building with her slung over my shoulder. Then I set her down on the ground, and paramedics, who have arrived and are taking care of people who have gotten out, thank me and put her on a stretcher.

Suddenly I see a red flash out of the corner of my eyes, and I whip around to see Spider-Man. _PETER?_ I almost smack myself on the forehead. OF COURSE Peter would come help. I didn't really think that far. I nervously pull at my scarf so that it rests higher on my face. I shouldn't be worrying about myself, I think with finality. I have to help the people inside.

I save about five other people. The last one, a man in a suit, is partially conscious but apparently delirious from the smoke, as he keeps on saying that he knows me. I leave him to the paramedics, then climb up a building and make my way back to where I left Peter.

I'm almost there when I realize that my clothes are covered with soot. "Crap." I run back to the alley where I stashed the clothes, go inside the store, then change clothes quickly. Then I stuff my sooty clothes inside the bag and practically run back to where I left Peter.

When Peter sees me, he visibly relaxes.

"There you are," he says with obvious relief. "Did you find it?"

I nod. "My keys must have fallen out of my pocket while I was trying on clothes," I answer. "It took me a while to find them."

We get to my house, and he gives me one of the milk jugs, which I set down in front of the back door as I unlock it.

Peter frowns. "You smell like smoke."

I assume a thoughtful look. "Really?" I sniff my arm. "That's weird."

Peter shrugs, his eyebrows furrowed. "Bye, Rachelle,"

I wave. "Bye, Peter!"

Then I turn the doorknob, walk into my house, and collapse onto the couch, laughing a little.

"Peter didn't suspect a thing," I mutter as I fall asleep from the combined exhaustion of the stunt with the burning building and the sleepless nights I've been having.

When I wake up, the TV is on, and the sky is almost dark. I jolt out of my half-asleep state.

"Wha-" I start, sitting up on the couch. I don't remember turning on the TV. Did I sit on the remote?

It's on a news channel, and I unconsciously twitch-I haven't liked news channels since the saw-my-dead-parents-on-TV incident. Right now, it's showing a video. There's a burning building, and then a figure in blue, gold, and brown climbs, spider-like, up the-oh, it's me. I smile a little. Then the screen changes to a brunette news reporter discussing the event.

"People all around New York city are calling her the 'spider vigilante', which is a name that seems to be very accurate." I start to laugh.

"I know it's you, Rachelle," I hear Peter's voice out of the now-dark room.

I jump back. "Wha-no-how did you get in?"

He snorts. "You left the door unlocked. But stop changing the subject. I know it's you."

I rub the back of my neck. "What's me?"

He rolls his eyes. "The 'spider vigilante'."

I realize that Peter's probably not too happy about me stealing the 'spider' thing from him.

"Whaaaat? N-no, wha-what're you talking about? You told me I couldn't be a superhero. Though that person DOES do it very well-"

He folds his arms. "Rachelle, stop it. Right now."

I mimic him, crossing my arms and sticking my tongue out. "You don't have proof…"

Peter raises a finger. "Actually, I do. First off, the spider vigilante (aka, you) went to a burning building and saved a bunch of people in the time that you (aka the spider vigilante) claimed you were going back to get something in the store. When you came back, you smelled like smoke, you had soot all over you, and I had seen you put your keys in your pocket a few minutes after we left the store."

I blink. "You did have proof." Then I raise my hands defensively. "Fine, I am the spider vigilante! Big surprise. You can't stop me anyways, so it doesn't really matter."

He face-palms. "Why do you keep insisting that I can't stop you. I'm SPIDER-MAN! I can do what I want!"

I wag my finger. "I am the spider VIGILANTE. I can do what _I_ want. And I want to-"

He interrupts me. "NO."

"Yes."

"I'm gonna punch you."

"No you're not."

"…you're right, I'm not. Hmph."

"Ha."

"Don't 'ha' me. I'm still not going to let you."

"Again, who put you in charge of me?"

"I told you, I did! Why is this so hard for you to grasp?"

I cross my arms. "Peter, you're my friend, not my dad. I can do what I want. And, I've got superpowers. Why are you so set against me doing this? I can actually HELP people, instead of hiding in my mansion and doing nothing."

Peter interrupts me. "But if you go out there and save people and be the hero-"

I raise a hand. "Heroine, actually,"

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that-if you do that, you'll make a lot of enemies. People who'll want to kill you. And-" He pauses. "And they might actually succeed. It's not because I don't-don't think you would be able to help, it's because I think that it would be safer for you to help the world in a different way."

I point at him. "See, right there! YOU think it would be safer for me! It probably would, but it's not your choice to make! I'm my own person! I can make my own choices. What would be SAFER is if you stopped being against me on this and we actually started working as a team!"

He sighs in defeat. "Okay, but…"

I tilt my head. "But what?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Don't do anything stupid."

I shrug. "Too late."

Then I remember the dart.

"Wait a sec, I want to show you something." I take out the dart that I found in the alley.

"Hydra," Peter says musingly, apparently forgetting all about his frustration with me. "This is what the guy knocked you out with?"

I nod. "Do you think that's them, or whoever manufactured the dart?" Peter points to the engraving.

"Probably them if they took the time to make the engraving in that fancy lettering. Usually companies just put their symbol on their products, not their names." I nod again.

"C'mon."

**A/N: So this is chapter four! A Merry Christmas to everyone! For those of you who have been reading my story, please ****review and/or favorite! Tell me what you like or what you WOULD like! **


	5. Research, Detective Work, and some Aster

**And, the moment is here...dun dun dun! New character! Congrats, IrisLillyRose, I actually DID get it done! Sorry about last week, it's sorta difficult to get stuff posted with no wifi. This one's extra long, just for you guys, and it's got my two FAVORITE superheroes in it! Put on your seat belts, Young Justice fans, he's here!**

Peter follows me down to the basement, where I keep all my technology. My parents used to be the heads of this big technology industry that created everything from computers to software-hacking devices to minuscule listening devices smaller than a dime. It was second only to Stark Industries.

It doesn't exist now-in a way, it was destroyed as soon as my parents died. I had been playing around with spare parts and gears since I was little, and my parents had taught me how to build some simple stuff. My little projects are what fills the room now, along with some of my parent's old blueprints and the the technology that I've bought. Since I inherited my parent's entire fortune, I've been able to buy really cool stuff and see how they work. I'm not a genius like my parents both were, but I've been learning.

I sit down at a table with a small square device, then press a button and a white hologram pops up, which I move with my fingers.

"Where'd you get this?" Peter says in awe. "This is new."

I shrug. "Bought it. It's really useful when you want to look at a bunch of designs or examples of blueprints all at once." I search the word, 'hydra'.

All that comes up at first is the ancient monster-the hydra-from mythology. Peter and I search for a while in silence, with occasional exclamations or muttered directions to ourselves. Then Peter comes up with something different.

"World War Two?" he mutters, and I turn to what he's looking at and enlarge it. It's a memorial website with army records and information from past wars and missions.

"Hydra was an organization created during World War 2 by a man that was commonly known as the Red Skull. Red Skull was killed while trying to bomb the United States, and the organization was dissolved. Failed attempts have been made to reinstate Hydra, though none have been successful." I pause. "That's all it says about it. Peter, I think we found it!"

—

So that's who kidnapped me. An evil organization that dates back to World War 2. Hmph. It doesn't comfort me. Peter looks worried, too, though I can tell he's trying to hide it. I'm playing around with a few gears and spare parts, and he's pretending to look at one of my little projects to hide his worrying. But I know him too well to be fooled by that. Honestly? I think he's more nervous than I am. Which doesn't bode well, because when Peter gets nervous about something he also tends to get overprotective of his friends.

And I can't afford that, as I plan to find Hydra and…dissolve…them again. Because if they can create someone like me, they could…I don't want to think about what they could do. But it's clear that whatever they plan on doing, it's not something good. Also, the man who kidnapped me freaks me out, with his creepy grin and his creepy sunglasses and his creepy… everything.

One of the holograms that I pulled up is showing a news station-I forgot that I had linked my device to the TV. I'm about to close the window when Peter stops me.

"Rachelle," he says, pointing to the image on the screen, which is showing the remains of the building. "I thought I recognized that building. Rachelle, that's the place the man took you when you were kidnapped."

My eyes widen. "Oh, no." The image now shows the photos of the people I helped save. I drag the image off the site, dropping it off to the left so I can examine it. "Peter, does that man look familiar?" I point to one of the images, my finger trembling.

Peter looks closer. "No, I-wait. Oh crap." I slam my fist into a nearby worktable, leaving a dent, which I immediately regret.

"Stupid! How did I not recognize him? The man KIDNAPPED me, and I didn't recognize him even when I was SAVING HIM!" I collapse into a chair, furious at myself. "I'm an idiot."

Peter shrugs. "Well, now we know who he is," he says, pointing to the small name under the picture. The name reads "LIAM CARTER."

—

After Peter leaves, I decide to go to the burning building to look for more evidence, because, far from comforting me, the discovery that I was kidnapped by Hydra has made me more nervous than ever. Peter only told me not to do anything "stupid", but I don't think this is stupid. This is just finding more clues. And Peter will never know, anyways.

Once I arrive at the building, which still smells strongly of smoke, I look around and find, to my surprise, that no one's here. I smile from under my scarf. Perfect. I don't need any nosey people around asking questions.

But, though I dig through what's left of the building till my arms are sore and covered with soot, I don't find anything. Cursing under my breath, I turn to leave. Then I notice a dark shape out of the corner of my eye, one that doesn't look like it's part of the building. I whip around. Is it just my already-tense nerves?

I walk over to check it out, creeping through the rubble silently. As I get closer, the shape looks at me, and I see that it's actually a man, dressed in black with a mask over his eyes. "Who're you?" I ask harshly. Is he a Hydra agent? He doesn't answer, but starts sprinting away.

"HEY!" It's not particularly hard to follow him, but his attempt at eluding me makes me sure that he's a Hydra agent. Because of my new powers, which I'm still getting used to, I can run at the speed of an Olympic athlete, sprinting. I follow the figure into a dark alley. I pounce on him as he starts to draw something from his belt.

"Hey!" the man complains. "What're you-" I grab hold of his arm and twist it, and he grunts in pain.

"Who are you?" I ask.

He tilts his head. "I could ask you the same que-hey, I know you!-you were on the news." I shake my head and try to act like I know what I'm talking about.

"I hate the news. Ruins my cover every time." He tries to get up, then gives a small gasp of pain, which he tries to hide.

"No, I'm on your side-I'm trying to defeat Hydra, too!" I withdraw a bit, loosening my hold on his arm.

"How do you know I'm trying to defeat Hydra?"

He gestures to the building with his free arm. "You're here."

I flush red under my scarf. "Oh. Right." I release him. "You never answered my question, though. Who are you?" He stands up and offers his hand for me to shake.

"I'm NightWing." The name seems vaguely familiar. I shake his hand.

"I'm…" I think for a moment, tilting my head back. A shooting star streaks across the night sky. I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Comet."

He nods. "Nice to meet you, Comet."

I size him up for a moment. He's tall, taller than me, at least, with dark black hair that falls partially over his eyes, which are covered with a small mask. He wears a dark suit with a blue shape on it-a hawk? I don't know what it's supposed to be. He has a quarterstaff strapped to his back-which he looks like he knows how to use-and a belt around his waist. NightWing…I try to think of where I've heard the name before.

"You're a superhero, aren't you?"

He looks at me for a moment, then nods. I've heard a bit about Night Wing over the news, and it's now that I decide to trust him.

"I'm guessing that you were looking for clues too, right?" he asks, and I nod. "Well, I found some."

I nod again. "Makes things easier for me." I wait for a minute, then sigh. "Feel like sharing?"

He thinks about it for a minute, then seems to reach the same conclusion that I did. "Okay. Let's go over to your house to examine the evidence and-" I hold up my hand, interrupting him. "Wait a sec. I've got a secret identity that I've got to hold up. I can't just be telling everyone who I am and where my house is."

He laughs. "Not much of a secret identity. Rachelle."

I flinch and back away. "You know my name? That's just creepy. You haven't been stalking me, right-cause I've already got one of those."

He puts his hands up defensively. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. I haven't been STALKING you, I just know your name! It was detective work! Do not disturb the aster."

I hesitate. "What?"

NightWing puts his hand over his face. "Inside joke."

I sigh, wondering what this guy could have found that I didn't. "Fine, let's go to my house."

—

When we arrive at my mansion, I open the door to Peter sitting on the couch.

"I thought you left," I say nonchalantly as I grab a cup and start to fill it with water.

He stands up. "Where were you? You weren't answering your cell. Who's this?"

NightWing nods to Peter. "So you know Spider-Man, huh?"

Peter turns to me, looking betrayed. "You told him?"

I shrug. "Nope."

We both look at NightWing. He lifts up his hands exasperatedly. "What? It's sort of obvious."

I laugh silently behind my hand as Peter's eyes pop.

"Obvious?" he mutters angrily to himself as NightWing and I try to hide our laughter. Peter points at NightWing. "Who are you, anyways?" NightWing holds out his hand.

"I'm NightWing." Peter reluctantly takes his hand and shakes it.

"So what happened?" Peter asks, turning to me. I gulp down my water.

"I went back to the building and tried to look for clues, and NightWing was there. I beat him up-"

"I LET you do it!" NightWing protests, and I shush him with my hand.

"Quiet, you. Anyways, then he told us he was on our side, and so now he's here, and he's got evidence, so, yeah." Peter looks unimpressed by my explanation.

"I thought I told you not to-to do anything stupid," Peter says quietly.

NightWing raises his hand. "Hey, it's a free country. You can't tell her what to do."

I grin at NightWing. "THANK you!"

Peter rolls his eyes at me. "I can still stop you."

NightWing puts his hand on my shoulder. "To stop her, you'd have to go through me first. And I'm pretty sure you can't beat me up." We high-five.

Peter walks up to NightWing. "You think you can beat me, do you?" he says menacingly.

NightWing grins. "Oh, I KNOW I can." I separate them, trying not to laugh.

"Girls, girls, you're both pretty. Stop fighting."

NightWing turns toward me. "I know I am."

Peter crosses his arms. "Pretty boy," he mutters as NightWing turns back to him.

"Anyways, stop being paranoid about her," he says. "If you want, I can teach her a few tips about how to defend herself." Peter grudgingly accepts.

We eat a late dinner—pancakes prepared by me. NightWing half-turns to me.

"Comet, I-"

Peter chokes. "Your name is COMET?"

I nod. "And…?"

He shrugs. "Why Comet?"

I shrug back at him. "Why Spiderman?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "Cause I've got FREAKING SPIDER POWERS!"

I blush. "Oh. Right."

NightWing laughs a bit. "Anyways, I need a place to crash. Can I do it here?" Peter and I shake our heads in unison, and I explain.

"Dude, I just met you. We can be a team, but you're not staying at my house."

NightWing nods. "I can understand that. Well…" he writes on a slip of paper for a minute, and I wonder where he got the paper and pencil. "…HERE'S the address for my hideout in the city. We can meet there tomorrow around nine, alright?"

I nod. "Sounds good. See ya."

NightWing walks out of the room, "See ya."

Peter opens his mouth to say something, but I put my hand over his mouth.

"Not a word out of you, web-head." He slumps in disappointment, then resumes eating his pancakes. After he's done, Peter waves as he exits the room.

"Bye, Rachelle," he calls as he walks out the door.

"Bye, Peter," I call after him. I wipe my face and go down into the basement to try to find more information.

"Hydra…World…War…two…Liam…Carter." I press enter, and, surprise-the search engine says, "_Your search-Hydra World War Two Liam Carter-did not match any results_." I shut the computer and go to bed.

**Ta-da! Gotta love NightWing! Anybody catch that joke? Seems like something he would say. Anyways, I actually had this all written out, but I'm making some serious revisions in the plot. So if anybody has ideas, please comment, I'd love to hear them! Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!**


	6. Disguises, Embarrassment, and Laughter

**A/N: Hi, everybody! It's me again! Thanks to all those who've been taking the time to read my story, it means the world to me. A special thanks to TiannaofNugyta! It's probably because of her that this chapter was even posted, she gave me the most wonderful review and it just made my entire week! Hope you like chapter 6, anyways.**

_Rachelle_

I wake up blearily to the sound of the doorbell ringing. A quick glance at my watch reveals that it's 9:30. _Who would-oh, crap._ I quickly pull on some jeans and the first t-shirt that I grab when I reach into my closet, and pull them on. Then I brush my hair, cursing myself. The _one_ day that I can sleep in, and it's the day I actually have to be somewhere…

I sprint down the stairs, hair flying, then open the door to find both Peter and NightWing, both of them in street clothes now, standing outside.

"Slept in," I gasp. "Sorry, I'm a deep sleeper and I stayed up to like 2 in the morning, and I-"

"Doesn't matter," NightWing says simply. "I found something that you guys might want to see."

Peter snickers. "Nice shirt."

I look down to see that the shirt that I grabbed just happens to be my one and only Spider-Man shirt from when the style was popular back when I was a senior. What are the odds?

"Laugh it up, Peter, I just grabbed the first shirt I had on hand," I say, shoving him and buttoning up my coat. "Don't take it personally, everyone owned one a few years ago."

Peter just shakes his head and laughs more, as NightWing tries and fails to hide a smirk.

"It's not THAT funny," I snap. They both try to straighten their faces.

"You're right, it's not," NightWing says solemnly, his mouth twitching. Peter snorts, and I glare at him; he then looks away with an 'innocent' look on his face.

"Right, what did you discover?" I say wearily to NightWing as we walk into my house.

He shrugs, handing me a file. "A few dates, places, and times is all," he states. "But they're pure gold; now we have the different companies that are controlled by Hydra, whether they know it or not, is narrowed down to one or two names on a list."

I open the file to see a half-burned, sooty piece of paper with barely legible words on it. Then I see a replica of it with NightWing's notes of what the words actually say.

"How did you get good information out of those dates?" I ask NightWing in awe. He scratches the back of his head uncomfortably.

"I have, uh, connections. The dates, times, and places on the paper match up exactly to a really prestigious party that's taking place in two days. It's hosted by a high-up company who we're assuming either is Hydra under a different name, or has Hydra agents in control. Either way, we're sure to get some pretty good information if we attend."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "But how are we supposed to get into the party without being suspected? If it's being hosted by a bunch of rich people, they're bound to have beast security. We can't just waltz right in and expect to get out of it alive."

NightWing grins. "I already have most of it planned out. You've just got to trust me on this…

—

_Peter_

Suits are not my thing. Suits are definitely not my thing. I'm used to wearing jeans and a t-shirt, or spandex. Not a suit and tie.

Turns out, NightWing's secret identity is the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, who happened to be invited to the party. (which is apparently being called a 'ball' in tonight's case. Why, I'm not sure.)

Mr. Wayne had planned to bring his son along anyways, so we're all going to go. I'm going as NightWing's 'best friend', and Rachelle is going as his 'date'. Rachelle is using her old secret identity from when she forged her way into school-Diane Hall. I'm using a completely new identity. My fake name is James Lyons.

NightWing walks up to me, pulling at his tie. "You ready?"

I laugh, running a hand through my hair nervously. "Sketchiest party I've ever gone too, but yeah, I'm ready. Where's Rachelle?"

"Slowly but surely coming your way," Rachelle laughs from the end of the hall. "Heels. My arch-nemesis. I'm sort of tempted to burn them right now." She's arrayed in a long red dress, with short sleeves and a V-neck. She also has her hair up with some…barrettes, I think they're called. And with makeup on, she's almost unrecognizable.

"You can burn them AFTER the party," NightWing promises. "But right now, we've got to get going."

An older man with graying dark hair, also wearing a suit, comes down the hall just as Rachelle reaches us. She uses my arm to steady her-apparently heels are very unstable to walk in. The man glances at NightWing.

"Are you and your comrades ready, Master Dick?" he asks NightWing in a British accent. Rachelle and I start to choke with laughter as NightWing nods.

"But Alfred?" he says, looking pained. "Don't call me that in front of these guys. NightWing's fine."

A few minutes later, we're sitting in a limo. Rachelle and I snicker at NightWing, who is very pointedly looking out the window.

"Dick, huh?" I struggle to say through my laughter. He glares at me.

"Richard, to you," he snaps, his arms folded. I raise an eyebrow.

"Sensitive, are we?" I say innocently. "We're not laughing AT you, we're-"

The limo falls silent as Bruce Wayne enters the vehicle, taking the only seat left, to the right of Rachelle. Rachelle and I both stare at him for a minute, hardly believing we're in the same car as Bruce Wayne.

NightWing face-palms. "Oops, I didn't introduce you. Dad, Diane and James. Diane and James, Dad!"

Mr. Wayne nods politely at us. "Pleased to meet you. Are you ready for tonight's operation?" he asks as the driver enters the car.

All of us nod, and after another pause, Rachelle can't contain her excitement any longer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but I've always wanted to know how you got your company's smart-watch have those holographic capabilities in it. How'd you get the projecting mechanism to work on such a small system?"

Mr. Wayne looks surprised for a moment, then just as he starts to speak, a young child's voice splits the awkward silence.

"DADDY! YOU FORGOT TIMMY AND ME! WAIT UP!"

Mr. Wayne sighs. "NightWing, I thought I told you to lock them in their rooms."

NightWing looks confused. "I did! I don't know how they could have gotten out, I-"

"AND GUESS WHAT? TIMMY TAUGHT ME HOW TO USE A LOCKPICK!"

Mr. Wayne face-palms as NightWing chuckles softly and opens the door.

Immediately, two kids burst into the limo. NightWing laughs as the smaller one continues to brandish the lockpick, then hugs him.

"Diane, James, these are my brothers, Damian and Tim."

Rachelle ruffles Damian's (the smaller one) hair. "How are YOU doing, Damian?" she asks in a 'little kid' voice. Damian scowls at her.

"Patronize me and I'll rip your face off," he says. Rachelle's smile immediately becomes forced.

"I'll keep that in mind," she says seriously, holding her hand out for him to shake. He shakes it, his face solemn, before turning to Mr. Wayne.

"Daddy, I-" he starts, before Mr. Wayne interrupts him.

"Yes, I heard. Timmy taught you how to use a lock-pick and now we'll have to resort to even MORE extravagant means to keep you in your room at night. How wonderful. Why don't you and Timmy sit right over here?"

I smile at the two kids, shaking their hands in turn.

"Nice to meet you both," I say. "I'm James."

The older one, Tim, grins at me. "Hi."

NightWing checks his watch and curses under his breath.

"We have to get going, like now, if we're going to be on time."

The car immediately gets going, and Rachelle continues her conversation with Mr. Wayne. Apparently she had brought along a small notebook and a pencil just in case she would be able to talk to Mr. Wayne; she draws one out after a few minutes and starts hastily writing notes and nodding.

By the end of the car ride, Rachelle and Mr. Wayne have gotten pretty friendly with each other, NightWing is glaring at me (probably because I can't suppress the occasional chuckle every once and a while) and Tim has explained at least five different lock-picking techniques to Damian.

The chauffeur gets out of the driver's seat and opens the right-hand back door. The two boys exit first, since they have been sitting nearest to that door. They are followed by Mr. Wayne, then me, then Rachelle, and finally, NightWing.

The place is extravagant, to say the least. It's a sprawling mansion that looks more like something from a painting than from real life. The plants have somehow been kept green even though it's the middle of winter. The gate, which is made of some kind of stone, is so clean it sparkles.

It's terrifying, in a way.

Not terrifying in the screaming-and-running-away kind of fear; that's a different kind. No, it scares me because the people we're going up against and actually daring to fool are people so high up that they can afford this.

It's the fact that they can live in this environment every day, have entire forces at their command. And right now, our side consists of exactly three people. Three people against thousands. Who wouldn't be intimidated by that?

We walk through the front gate and down a stone walkway, then are ushered into an already lively party. It's a cross between chaos and order that I've gotten used to through school and living in New York. Which is good, because otherwise I wouldn't be able to differentiate the important details from ones that don't matter.

After a while, a blonde girl wearing a blue and white dress approaches us.

"Hey, Dick. Who's this?" she says, pointedly glancing at Rachelle, who has been playing her part as NightWing's date perfectly. I almost choke on my sparkling cider at the use of NightWing's name.

"Oh, this is, my eh…date?" NightWing says uncomfortably, making it sound almost like a question. The girl raises her eyebrows.

"Your date?" she repeats, her voice icy. "How NICE. And you?" she asks, addressing me personally.

"I'm J-James," I say, stammering from anxiety; there's something about this girl that makes me think she can be dangerous if she wants to, and that could blow our cover.

"Pleasure," she says dismissively. "I'm Stacy. Dick, may I speak with you for a moment?"

They move a few feet away, conversing so quietly that I can't single their voices out from the crowd around me.

I turn to Rachelle. "That was interesting."

She nods. "Yep." There's a moment of awkward silence.

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm having a SMASHING time," I say, using a British accent.

Rachelle giggles. "You sound like Alfred." Suddenly her eyes widen as she covers her mouth with her hands.

I assume a 'dignified' face. "Are you and your comrades ready, MASTER Dick?"

"Well I'm back, if that's what you mean," a familiar voice says from behind me. I cringe as I whip around.

"Oh, hi, Dick-I mean Richard-I mean-ugh. Can I just call you, I dunno, BOB or something so that this won't be so confusing-"

"Richard's fine," NightWing says firmly. I try to smile but it comes out more of a grimace. Rachelle tries and fails to keep from laughing.

Suddenly, the blonde girl from earlier pops up between Rachelle and I, making Rachelle flinch visibly.

"So what's new around here?"

I shake my head in confusion at how quickly her personality changed, but before I can say anything, I hear the faint sound of someone screaming. The exclamations are slowly taken up by everyone, and suddenly the crowd is running away.

"WHAT'S GOING ON?" I yell to NightWing over the chaos. His face is tight with something undefinable-fear or worry, I think.

"It's the Scarecrow."

**Dun dun duuuuuun! CLIFFHANGER! I was going to go on with this chapter after this but then I realized that this chapter was already overly long. So instead, I decided to pull a Rick Riordan and drive you guys completely crazy! Mwahahaha! (but seriously am I the only one who was driven completely crazy for like a year after the Mark of Athena?)**

**I also had a lot of fun with NightWing's name, if you didn't already notice, which may be sort of immature of me, but honestly, I couldn't resist! Don't worry, if you didn't like it I'll probably only mention it like one more time in the entire rest of the story! So keep with me!**

**And, drumroll please, NEW CHARACTER! If any of you haven't read IrisLillyRose's story, ****_The Story of My Life,_** **I highly recommend it. Stacy is her OC from that story (let it be known that this story takes place a few years after the time period in The Story of My Life). A good choice of action would be to read that, but if you can't, I'll probably explain everything anyways. **

**Yeah, if you take another look at that last paragraph, THAT'S why I would never be a good salesperson. Tough luck, IrisLillyRose. I did my best.**

**Again, thanks for staying with me! **

**~readwritelive13 **


	7. Bait, Mockery, and Fruit Punch

**And, after long last, I update! I'm really sorry guys, I had severe writer's block and my life is crazy busy right now...also action scenes are hard for me to write. But I'm finally past that, and it should be pretty smooth updating from here. So without further ****adieu...**

_Rachelle_

I knew it. I knew when trouble started that this would happen. I mean, it is my first real fight, but am I that useless?

As I predicted, I am the bait. Well, me and 'Red', that is. I've seen her on TV-her full name is 'RedHawk'-and she's not a bad fighter. Better than I am, at least.

The plan: the bait (aka RedHawk and I) go and distract Scarecrow, while NightWing and Peter knock out the thugs and start to get people out. RedHawk and I have to (added to 'distract Scarecrow') try to take Scarecrow's fear gas away from him if we can, so that if things go bad, he can't use that on us.

So here we are, lingering around the entrance to the main hall where we're sure Scarecrow is.

RedHawk grins at me. "Ready?" she says in a soft voice, grinning widely.

I try for a grin but it comes out as a grimace. "No. Let's do this."

We open the doors and run in; the scene is just as NightWing described it. Guess he has a lot of experience with this type of stuff. The hostages are lined up against the west wall with a bunch of thugs pointing large guns at them; Scarecrow stands behind them.

Scarecrow. I have to suppress a shiver at the sight of him. He's dressed…well, like a scarecrow; he has a scarecrow like mask over his head and is dressed in a _suit_ of all things. Somehow the formality mixed with the creepiness makes it extra creepy.

Since we ran in on the east side, Scarecrow and the thugs have to turn away from the hostages to look at us; the thugs are apparently too stupid to realize that they should keep pointing their guns at the hostages and Scarecrow must be too surprised to correct them.

RedHawk gets up in Scarecrow's face-er, mask-and says "HELLO!" cheerfully.

Scarecrow is obviously lost for words. Meanwhile, RedHawk continues, speaking rapidly.

"How's your day going? I'm RedHawk. We've met before, haven't we? I think I put you in Archum a few times. Yeah…good times, huh? That mask still irritating your face? You probably shouldn't have used that burlap material. Ouch. Face burn right there."

I raise my eyebrows. _Okay, she's crazy,_ I think. _Albeit good at distracting people. I guess I should follow her lead…_

I stand next to RedHawk, trying to force a smile, and put my arm around her shoulder. "She's right. I know if _I_ was wearing a burlap sack over my head, my skin would be irritated. What do you use, s-some kind of lotion or something? You must-"

Scarecrow interjects. "What are you doing? Why do you not tremble in fear? I can cause that to occur, if your fear is not potent enough for you."

He gestures with his arms a little, and I assume that the fear gas must come out of his sleeves or something. I take a step back, as does RedHawk.

RedHawk tries for a grin. "Nah, that's okay, my fear is potent enough for me."

Scarecrow points his arm at me. "Well then, I'm sure _you_ would enjoy some." I immediately leap backwards, but not fast enough to avoid a spray of whitish-yellowish gas to the face. I gasp and choke, falling to the ground, and hit my head. My body is trembling like crazy; my head is spasming.

Then, suddenly, it stops. I'm completely fine. I stand up, and yellow dances around the edge of my vision for a moment, then disappears.

I look triumphantly at Scarecrow, who is battling off an insistent RedHawk that is trying to take his mask off.

"Was that supposed to do something?" I say with a grin. Inside, I'm a bit worried, but I try to ignore it.

Scarecrow, obviously having lost his patience with RedHawk, gives her a spray in the face with his fear gas. Except for this fear gas looks…pinkish?

"Ooh, that smells good," she says with a sly smirk, waving a large vial of liquid. "Looking for this?"

And then she punches him in the face-er, mask. _I did NOT expect that._

Scarecrow falls to the ground and RedHawk points at me. "Um, Comet? The thugs?"

_Oh yeah._ I dodge the bullets from the thugs and punch the nearest one in the face. "Ow! Dude, are you wearing, like, armor or something? Gosh, that hurt! My knuckles!"

Suddenly, I hear a sound that's become familiar to me through action movies. The cocking of a gun. Right behind me.

I whirl around as NightWing crashes into me and a gunshot rings out. RedHawk stops right in the middle of her sentence. "You've just been-ROBIN!"

_Who's Robin?_ I think groggily, trying to stand. Something really heavy and warm is on top of me, preventing me from doing so. My blurry vision detects black and blue.

"NightWiiiiing," I whine. "You're crushing me-and you spilled punch everywheeeeeere!" Something warm, red, and wet is all over my arm. _Blood,_ I register as the blurry forms of RedHawk and Peter ferociously take down the thugs. _It's blood._

—

_Peter_

The sound of a gunshot rings out in the now ruined ballroom, and I can hear RedHawk's scream interrupt a smart remark she was about to make.

"You've just been-ROBIN!"

_Robin,_ I think with my eyebrows furrowed behind my mask. _Who the heck is Robin!_

I take out the rest of the thugs relatively easily. It's when I turn to make a witty comment to Scarecrow, who is cuffed and on the ground. That's when I see her, lying prone on the floor. Covered in blood.

"COMET!" The word gets mangled because I shout it so loud, hurting my throat. But I don't care. _It's all my fault, it's Gwen all over again, she's going to-_

RedHawk is carefully rolling NightWing off of Rachelle as I sprint over to them. "Calm down," she says, seeming to be the IMAGE of calm except for her shaking hands. "It's not her blood. It's Ro-NightWing's."

_Oh no, NightWing…_ RedHawk carefully rips off the bloodied material on the shoulder of his suit, and I wince at the amount of blood still oozing from it. I know from experience that bullet wounds are _extremely_ painful.

"Looks like it went straight through. That's good." RedHawk says almost gruffly. "And it's not gushing blood, so we know that it didn't hit any arteries…" I nod, trying to resist the urge to go check on Rachelle, but I would feel really guilty checking on someone who probably isn't even hurt when NightWing's been shot.

NightWing's eyes open (well I assume they open because the whites of his mask get wider) and he grasps one of RedHawk's arms.

"Hey, Red," he says, wincing a little bit. RedHawk nods slowly as she pulls some bandages out of her belt.

"Yeah?" she says, starting to wipe off the blood and wrap his shoulder.

"I can't help but notice that we're matching now."

RedHawk laughs, and I can see some of the tension in her face ease a little. "Matching _wounds,_ NightWing? I think we should probably stick with, I dunno, friendship bracelets or something…" We all laugh, and then her face gets serious again. "But seriously NightWing, shut up before you die of blood loss." This makes him laugh even harder as RedHawk continues to wrap his shoulder with startling speed.

I decide that if they're already joking around, that it's okay to check on Rachelle. When I do, I'm sort of relieved, because she's relatively unhurt except for a few bruises. And the fact that she's passed out, but I guess it just must be stress.

"Comet…Comet…Wake up…" I say, slightly nudging her and trying not to gag and/or throw up at the amount of NightWing's blood that is on her. When she doesn't wake up, I decide to shake her more. "Comet! We need to get outta here!"

She jerks awake. Literally JERKS, I'm surprised she doesn't get whiplash from how fast her head moves. Which is immediately followed by an attempted punch to the face that I dodge.

"Jeez Comet, it's me!" I say, putting my hands on her shoulder. "What the heck are you…" For a moment Comet's eyes seem almost animal-like with the amount of fear that's coursing through them, but then she blinks and I decide that it must have just been my nerves.

"Oh, sorry about that…force of habit." she says sheepishly, and I laugh.

"What, you punch your pillow whenever you wake up in the morning?" I joke, and she laughs.

"No, I…never mind. Wait, what's with RedHawk?"

I glance at RedHawk, who's finishing off NightWing's bandaged shoulder. "What about her?"

"She's _completely calm_. Did you see her before the fight? She was so perky it was creepy! This is sorta creepier though…"

RedHawk, as if on cue, looks up. "I heard that. Anyways, I've gotta get NightWing to the Batcave; he needs more medical attention because I am _definitely_ not an expert. You guys can go home."

"But-" Rachlle and I both start. RedHawk cuts us off.

"_Go home._ He'll be fine, he's gotten worse injuries before. Plus, it'll be easier to get him medical attention if there's only two of us. He'll meet you wherever the heck you guys last met next weekend, okay?"

Rachelle opens her mouth to argue further, but I nod, understanding the logic in her argument. "Okay. Good luck."

NightWing gives us a mock salute, says "bye" through gritted teeth, and then they're gone. I turn to Rachelle.

"Alright, I guess we'll go clean up as much as we can, then call a cab to New York. Did either of them think about the two hour drive to New York? I bet the traffic's murder, too…"

**Ta-da! Hope Scarecrow wasn't too out of character...but yeah! Special thanks to TiannaofNugyta and IrisLillyRose, they're like all of the reason this chapter is here! Be sure to check out both of their stories! If you're confused about the sudden appearance of RedHawk, reading Iris' story would be good...and Tianna's story is just plain awesome! :) Until the next update, be sure to review! **


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